Bittersweet Melody
by rockitty99
Summary: A lonely, passionate sound that echoes through the night. A removed, cold mask. A piano that both soothes and agitates the soul.


**Before reading this, I would suggest finding one of the following songs and listening to it. I'm afraid I don't have links due to downloading these songs ages ago. They can all be found on Newgrounds Audio Portal though. No, none of these are the song used in the fanfiction below, but it kind of gives a better idea.**

What if… -mjattie  
It hurts to fall asleep – nubbinownz  
Eternal memories at midnight – ObsidianSnow

**And with that, I bid you good reading, fair fanfictioners~**

-  
  
Gloved fingers danced over the ivory keys with such practiced ease. Each note of the enchanting song stood out, yet was lulled in, mixed to make such an enticing tune. The pianist obviously didn't know he wasn't alone, and he closed his eyes, letting the grand piano take him to all the places he couldn't bear to go alone.

The song changed from enchanting to lonely. High notes, accompanied by a stumble on the lower keys, it portrayed the player's sadness. If one were to close his eyes, he would see this gifted pianist as he truly is, a cold, broken child, crying for attention that he would never receive, or more, never would let himself receive. The melody continued to grow and change, as if it were the highest quality clay being sculpted by world-class artist. The growing vine of the lonely tune blossomed, creating a black flower, speckled with red.

Slender hands slammed down on the keys, releasing weeks, months, and years' worth of frustration. Angry, cold, distant, the haunting song continued as the pianist played. He tilted his pale face to the window, where the light of a pale moon shone through. A tear was illuminated by the haunting light, and it fell onto those delicate, ivory keys. To see someone normally so rash and cold, to see him put so much passion into one song was a strange, beautiful sight.

His fingers continued to play, climbing up and down the black and white keys like two leather spiders, possessed by their owner's emotion that he struggled to control. Going up and down, the melody was so enticing, creating the pianist's heart in the outside world. Grey, black, white, the monotonous heart was exposed, the same colours as the grand piano. Tears fell from the silent observer's eyes, unbelieving how lonely, angry and passionate this pianist could truly be.

It was as if the pianist was naked, exposed, showing who he truly was. There was desperation in the tune, a need to be loved, a need to be held and touched gently and kissed. Droplets of sadness flowed freely from the eyes of both the player and the spectator.

The man sitting at the piano changed every time he played. During the day, he wore a cold, blank mask. Icy, cold, controlled, almost hateful. That had been thrown away, as his fingers danced along the keys. The raw face underneath glowed with such pure emotion. His cold green eyes became alive with fire, such warmth, and that heartbreaking loneliness that suffocated him. He gritted his teeth, letting it all flow through his body and out through his dancing hands.

The quiet observer had changed just by watching him play. So long, so long had that been his mission, to watch him. The person leaning against the doorframe was breathless at this raw emotion, not in all the days of quiet (and not so quiet) observation had he ever seen this man with so much passion. He wiped his eyes, realising the truth about why he loved that lonely pianist so much.

He wanted to fix him.

With quiet footsteps, the witness to this beautiful, sad song stepped into the room, noticing again as the melody changed. A high, lonely tune of sorrow, a melody that expressed the pain inside him, showing that his blackened heart still beat in his chest, that he wasn't completely void of emotion besides irritancy. There was no more anger, no more hatred, just a crying child reaching out for someone to help him to his feet.

Gently, a hand was placed on the pianist's shoulder, causing his playing to cease and his head to snap around to where the silent observer was standing. The melody still echoed around the large room, and the spectator smiled sadly at the broken hearted man sitting at his grand piano. The observer wrapped his arms around the dark-haired man, holding him, letting him know it was okay to cry. And cry he did, tears flowing down the normally reserved pianist's face, soaking the shoulder of the other's white shirt.

"Grell…" he choked between sobs, "I'm sorry you had to see this…"  
"It's okay, William, my dear, I'm here for you. Always."


End file.
